


My Cup of Tea

by orphan_account



Series: Earl Grey Kisses [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Child games, Children, Close Brothers, Domestic Fluff, French, Gay Parents, Hunchback of Notre Dame references, Kissing, M/M, Spooning, Tea, Tons of love, adoring husbands, and Catholicism, arthur is little spoon, arthur just wants all the attention from Francis honestly., burns are also cockblocks js, good parenting, kids are an eighteen year cockblock, mentioned family disappointment, pure fluff, scalding, there is no plot this is what it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 18:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12732279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I was inspired by these kids I was babysitting and this story just spilled out of me.(I may write a prequel going into detail about Nice and their backstory cuz i've sorta intrigued myself.)





	My Cup of Tea

**Author's Note:**

> The three and a half pages of pure FACE family fluff we all need honestly.

Alfred wrapped his brother up tightly in his arms, restraining his movements as he pushed the boy towards the couch. 

“Go towards the portal.”

Matthew giggled hard, trying to go limp in order to make the ordeal more difficult for his twin.

“Play along,” Alfred whispered, breaking character.

The two fell onto the couch and Alfred wailed in mock distress. “No! I fell into the portal with you! Get away!”

Mattie laughed harder, not as good at pretend, and clung to Alfred’s leg. “No! We’re friends!” 

The pair fell to the floor and began to wrestle, cackling with glee. Alfred came out the winner, straddling his brother’s stomach and breathing hard. “We’ll never get back to Earth on our own. We’ll have to hope humans open a portal for us.”

“Why can’t we just go back through the way we came?” Matthew inquired, head tilted in curiosity.

“The portal closed and the remote was left behind. Maybe we can find a new one! In fact, I think I see one!.” Alfred scrambled across the room, towards the TV and dove onto the floor; Matthew right on his heels and tripping over him. 

“No! Stop following me!” Alfred huffed, his eyes twinkling with the delight of the game. He pushed his brother off. “Where are we? Ah! A monster! Get behind me, stranger. I’ll protect you.”

Mattie cowarded behind Alfred, peeking over his shoulder as his brother waved his arms wildly and made strange sounds.

“Zzzz… Pzzt... kchhh” Alfred buzzed while he flailed. He rolled ungracefully onto the floor and scrabbled back to his feet. He kicked outwards, almost losing his balance, then cheered. “We’re saved! Now back to Earth.”

“I’m scared of Earth.” Matthew decided, shaking his head.

Alfred pouted. “But we  _ live  _ there!”

“I don’t wanna go. Let’s stay here.” 

Alfred tackled the boy once more and they again brawled. Eventually, they grew tired and ceased their game of Portals.

They flopped back onto the couch to continue the movie their papa had put on for them. The music of the  _ Hunchback of Notre Dame  _ lulled the boys into a sort of stupor. Their papa found them like this, having come downstairs to find what all the fuss was. The movie had been intended to get the restless boys to sleep, not make them louder. 

Francis smiled at the way they were curled in a heap together, glassy eyes trained on the colorful characters on screen. “Do you like it boys? I grew up there, you now. Only a few blocks away from the  _ Notre Dame.” _

Matthew grinned sleepily at his papa, “It means “our lady,” right?”

The tall man nodded, knelt on the ground before them, pulled the blanket up from the floor, and draped it over them.

“ _ gazing at the people down below me. All my life I’ve watched them as I hide up here alone. Hungry for the histories they’ve shown me. All my life I’ve memorized their faces, knowing them as they will never know me…”  _ he sang along softly with the movie, caressing the soft faces of his sons.

The twins drifted off to sleep with the lovely voice of their papa in the background. Francis stood and kissed each of them goodnight on the forehead. 

 

Arthur was waiting for him upstairs in the kitchen. He stirred his tea a little glumly, watching the steam roll into the chilly air of their home. The two had been planning to go on a date that night for an entire month. Unfortunately, their babysitter had cancelled last minute, falling sick. (Matthew, of course, was relieved. He was not fond of new people, especially when left alone by his parents.)

Francis came up from the basement, a fluffy white blanket draped across his shoulders, golden locks trapped against his neck. The sight of him was so overwhelmingly adorable, Arthur could physically feel his chest tighten. The man did unfair things to him, even after so long.

“They’re finally asleep,  _ mon cher.”   _ The Frenchman pulled his husband into his arms, wrapping the blanket around Arthur so the two were cocooned together in fuzzy softness. 

Arthur stared up at him for a moment, before deciding to ease the tension in his chest with a snarky comment. “I heard your story. Lying isn’t a very good thing to teach the boys. Heavens knows Alfie will pick up on the habit and we’ll have it even worse ‘round here.”

Francis stuck out his perfectly pink bottom lip in a pitiful, albeit beautiful, little pout. His trimmed eyebrows crept up his forehead, eyes going wide in feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You grew up in Louisiana.” Arthur snorted. 

“ _ C’est vrai,  _ but I was born in  _ Paris.”  _ His accent was flawless and made Arthur’s heart do funny things.

“And moved to Nice for college, I know,” Arthur rolled his eyes. “But you’ve never seen ‘Our Lady.’”

“Never said I had,” His eyes were so impossibly blue and Arthur was maybe, just maybe getting completely lost in them. He could feel himself drowning. There was a pull in his stomach, drawing him into their depths like the waves to the moon. 

“Will you kiss me already, frog?” 

Francis sighed lovingly, “So impatient.”

Then he complied with the demand. Arthur hated the way he was melting against him, but he was. The kiss was hot and sweet and sent waves of warmth through Arthur’s skin. It reminded him of a crackling fire on a cold night. Francis was the sugary s’mores, the taste of him sticking to Arthur’s tongue. 

There was nothing wild and desperate about it the way they had been as teenagers. Back when Arthur was exploring his attraction to boys and Francis was rebelling against his strict Catholic mother, they made out whenever they could: in back hallways, behind the church, even once in the confessional. It was no wonder Mrs. Bonnefoy never approved of Arthur. 

It was slow, familiar, and loving. Gone were the clashing teeth and sinful tongue piercing. Francis was in his element with the gentle, romantic kissing. He was declaring his undying love and Arthur was revelling in the attention. He was loath to admit to how much he adored Francis’ affection, but Francis knew. Francis always knew. 

Arthur finally drew away, forehead tilted against Francis’.

“Are you still holding Nice against me, Arthur?” Francis had trouble with the ‘th’s even now, sometimes coming out as z’s or a hard t sound, and rolled his r’s endearingly. Arthur’s name sounded French and foreign and perfect on Francis’ tongue.

“ _ Non, ma belle fleur. Je n’est pas fache.”  _ Arthur’s French was stilted in comparison, but the way it made Francis smile was worth it. 

“I love when you use pet name,  _ mon cher,”  _ Francis whispered coyly into Arthur’s ear.

“The boys could wake up any minute,” Arthur warned, but his hands were at odd with him as the curled into Francis’ shirt and drew the man closer. 

“So we put them to bed, lock our door, and  _ nous faisons l’amour douce,”  _ His voice was thick and gruff and like liquor to Arthur’s ears.

When he did not immediately respond, Francis took to nibbling gently his earlobe. He tugged on the sensitive skin with his teeth. Arthur whimpered. He was so weak for him and the offer sounded so unobjectively perfect. It had been so long…

Francis pulled away suddenly, hissing like a wet, angry cat. It took a minute for Arthur to find the cause: spilled tea. His forgotten, freshly boiled tea had been knocked over during their kissing session and burned his poor husband. The man’s hand was turning an angry red color and Francis was swearing in French, hopping in pain, almost slipping on the discarded blanket on the floor. Arthur stood and pulled him to the sink. He took Francis by the wrist and drew it under a lukewarm stream of water. Francis hissed again, flinching slightly, but Arthur held him still.

“It’ll be alright, petal. Sh, we’ll take care of this, okay?” he cooed other nonsensical reassurances to his husband as he let the water soothe the burn for several minutes.

After, he carefully pat it dry, wincing with his husband at the sting. “I know, just a little more. Come on now, let’s get that shirt off so it doesn’t irritate your wrist.”

Francis did not bother objecting, willingly allowing Arthur to help him out of the semi-expensive fabric. Finally, Arthur tore of a section of plastic wrap and wound it around Francis’ scalded skin. 

“How’d you know how to do that?” Francis asked, bewildered at the sudden medical knowledge displayed by his husband.

“Alfred always manages to burn some part of his skin every few years. I’ve got the entire procedure memorized. We’re probably going overboard with the cling film, but I’d rather be safe.” Arthur shrugged.

“Guess this means no love-making.” Francis sighed disappointedly at his hand.

“Yes, I suppose the mood is a bit ruined.” Arthur smirked slightly. “I’ll get the boys tucked in, why don’t you get ready for bed?”

The two split off, Francis turning off lights with his good hand as he went. Arthur traipsed downstairs and fetched Alfred then Matthew and carried them to their room. After lulling Matthew back to sleep with a quick, whispered tale, Arthur left in a hurry. 

He found Francis in bed, propped up with a few pillows. He had his reading glasses on, hair partially up in a messy bun, and struggling to turn the pages of his book without hurting his hand. Arthur pulled the book out of his grasp, bookmarking the page, and set it on the nightstand. The lights went out, Arthur stripped, and crawled under the covers. 

Francis sought out his warmth, drawing him flush against his chest. Normally, Arthur get in a snit over being the little spoon. However, tonight he found he did not mind as much. Being in Francis’ arms felt safe and perfect. Those lean arms around his middle and the feeling of Francis’ face against the back of his neck made something in Arthur stir. He could smell Francis’ fruity perfume and he pressed back against him, almost trying to engulf himself in everything that was Francis. If Arthur was honest, spooning was in its own way just as intimate as sex. There was a closeness, a sweetness to it that made him dizzy. Nothing made him feel quite as safe as knowing Francis was  _ right there,  _ that he couldn’t leave without alerting Arthur, that he was safe. It was almost better being little spoon, a sign to Arthur that Francis wanted him in his arms just as much as Arthur wanted to be there. 

Weariness was tugging at his consciousness, and he fought it, wanting to enjoy the moment while it lasted. Wanted to cocoon himself in this before the Alfred came bounding in, bringing morning with him as he lept onto the bed.

Francis breath was evening out against his neck and he could feel against his back Francis’ heart rate slowing. He was asleep then. Arthur shut his eyes, squirming closer, hands pulling at Francis’ arms. He wanted to be held tighter, to feel the embrace in his dreams. Francis stirred but did not wake, for which Arthur was glad. His desperation for affection was well-known, but sometimes flat out embarrassing. He enjoyed the moments he could cuddle against the man without Francis being aware of what was going on. There would be no smug, amused smirks or chuckling. Arthur could revel in it without his face going warm.

“I love you, you beautiful man.” Arthur whispered softly into the night as he accepted the draw of sleep. 

“Mm,  _ je t’aime aussi.”  _ came the muttered, half-asleep reply.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read! Feel free to leave kudos or comments and have a good day, guys.


End file.
